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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084569">Let Sleepy Bois Lie</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkspacesinmymind/pseuds/thedarkspacesinmymind'>thedarkspacesinmymind</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tristful Sonder [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Video Blogging RPF</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Blue Sonder (Video Blogging RPF), Bedrooms, Character Study, Dadza, Fluff, Gen, Sleepy Boys, Symbolism, but like nothing weird, don't even go there you disgust me, litterally just me headcannoning what their rooms are like, that one was actually a tag so I guess I can forgive, why am I doing this at this hour, why the fuck isn't that a tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 19:15:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,910</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28084569</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkspacesinmymind/pseuds/thedarkspacesinmymind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil checks on his sons before bed. That's it. That's the summary.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Blue Sonder au by @chewwypepsicola on Twitter</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Technoblade &amp; Philza (Video Blogging RPF), TommyInnit &amp; Philza (Video Blogging RPF), Tubbo &amp; Philza, Tubbo &amp; Wilbur Soot &amp; Technoblade &amp; TommyInnit &amp; Philza, Wilbur Soot &amp; Philza</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Tristful Sonder [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2057445</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>300</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Blue Sonder AU</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Let Sleepy Bois Lie</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Canon DreamSMP hurts my heart so I'm focusing on blue sonder bois. Enjoy this piece of fluff I spent like a day on.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The house stood dark and silent that night. The sounds of the forest unable to penetrate the thick walls of the cottage. They would be grateful for them when winter came. </p>
<p>Lantern light flickered, casting the silhouettes of wings over the cream walls. The bearer tread silently, instinctively avoiding the places where the wood bowed and creaked. All but one inhabitant slept, welcomed into the peaceful embrace of oblivion. But the guardian did not rest, not yet. He would not sleep until all four of his sons could rest in dreams not plagued by the terrors of the waking hours. </p>
<p>If this led to many a sleepless night, he never complained. He couldn’t stop the nightmares, but he could hold his boys through them.</p>
<p>The wooden stairs were cool under his bare feet. He reached the first door in the hall, already ajar, and slipped into his youngest’s room.</p>
<p>Tubbo’s bedroom smelled of cool night breezes and midnight dew. The window was thrown wide open, the open air filling the room and sending stray feathers from the angel’s last molt fluttering up like clouds of dust around his feet. Water stains had turned the white paint of the windowsill a beige yellow. Tubbo never closed it, even when it rained. He liked to sleep with the air under his wings. </p>
<p>Constellations danced across the ceiling and the walls, cast by the nightlight Wilbur had lovingly crafted for Tubbo, pinpricks of light shining through holes punched in a metal tin, creating an artificial sky for the angel to fall asleep under.</p>
<p>The walls were a painted moss green, previously white, but they had reminded Tubbo too much of heaven’s colourless architecture. Books on every subject were piled haphazardly on the bedside table, threatening to tumble over at the slightest push. Next to them, fresh flowers were arranged in a glass vase, petals of every colour illuminated the moonlight.</p>
<p>Phil was careful not to disturb Tubbo as he crept closer to the bed. Well, really it was more of a nest. The angel had arranged blankets and clothing into a pile on the mattress, where he lay curled up on his side, cocooned between his wings.</p>
<p>He slept peacefully, his chestnut curls lay in soft tangles on the pillow, dark lashes resting on his round cheeks.</p>
<p>He slept alone tonight, no sign of Tommy amidst the heap of blankets. Oftentimes Phil would come to check on one to find the other already curled around them, taking comfort in each other’s presence. Though there were times he’d ascend the stairs to be met with the sound of hushed whispers, quickly falling silent at the sound of his footsteps.</p>
<p>But tonight Phil smiled softly at his son’s sleeping form, bending down to kiss his forehead gently, Tubbo’s ‘head flappies’ as Tommy had named them, twitching as he dreamed. </p>
<p>There would be no nightmares of falling, white wings turning dark as he screamed for Niki, for Eret, for Fundy. For tonight, the terrors of heaven were distant. He was safe in the forest on earth.</p>
<p>Heaven wouldn’t touch his angel, not while Phil was there to protect him.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Wooden toys and weapons littered Tommy’s floor. Gingerly, Phil tiptoed between jenga blocks and carved wooden figures, Mini slingshots and gleaming daggers. The young demon’s curiosity could never be satisfied. He kept an ever growing collection of any trinket that piqued his interest, from rocks he found on the lake shore to hundred legged caterpillars and iridescent beetles.</p>
<p>Speaking of, Phil made his way over to the window, where a glass jar housed Tommy’s newest addition: a giant monochromatic moth, wings fluttering nervously as it attempted to escape its glass prison. Easing open the window, he released the insect, watching it disappear between the branches. Tommy would exclaim at its disappearance in the morning, he always did. But he’d find something new to entertain himself soon enough, and Phil would release it that night. He always did. </p>
<p>Bugs freed for the night, Phil turned his attention to the young demon asleep on the bed. Well, half on the bed. Tommy slumped sideways across the mattress, legs tangled in the blanket, torso hung over the side of the bed, blond hair almost touching the floor and drool glistening on his chin in the lamplight. </p>
<p>The boy insisted he didn’t need a nightlight when Wilbur or Techno teased him about it, claiming he only kept one lit for the sake of Tubbo if he ever came to him in the night. It didn’t look like he’d be needing it tonight, with the angel sleeping soundly next door, but Phil left it lit anyways, leaning down to gently hoist Tommy back onto the bed, pulling the covers over his sleeping form. If Tommy woke before dawn he wanted him to have a light, so he wouldn't wake in the dark. Not again.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Wilbur’s room was a reflection of his mind: beautiful chaos. Books and trinkets crammed every shelf, tomes on every subject that caught his interest with pages marked by coloured ribbons crammed tightly on one side to make room for the multitude of keepsakes Wilbur had collected during his travels.</p>
<p>His prized possessions, the twin daggers embellished with gold and the guitar with the slightly crooked neck Techno had gifted him last Christmas had been laid gently on top of the bed, blanket yellow to match the walls.</p>
<p>Wilbur wasn’t in his bed, he was passed out at the desk by the window, head in his arms, loose paper scrawled with song lyrics covering the surface. The window was lined with jars of brightly coloured ink, spare quills tucked into a slightly deformed clay pot Tommy had crafted for him. Candles burned low on the desktop, white wax fusing the stubs to the worn oak wood. Setting down his lantern, Phil carefully tucked the guitar and daggers in the corner, pulling back the sheets before gently easing his son out of his chair and into bed, no simple task considering the demon’s height, pulling the covers over his lanky frame and smoothing the hair back from his face. He snored softly, the bags under his eyes like soot stains, and Phil watched over his son with a mixture of endearment and concern.</p>
<p>This wasn’t the first time he had found Wilbur passed out from exhaustion on his desk, having worked himself to the moment sleep claimed him, not even stopping to climb into bed.</p>
<p>Wilbur wasn’t one to give up on a problem. When his family needed him, he would be there for them until he was sure they were okay, never wavering as his brothers leaned on him for support. Sometimes Phil worried the demon stretched himself too thin, taking the responsibility of holding their ragtag family onto his shoulders and never asking for help in return. </p>
<p>On top of this his perfectionism made him determined to master everything he tried his hand at, every niche interest that piqued his curiosity. When he committed himself to a project he would work tirelessly until it was perfect, from learning the guitar to drawing to songwriting he was a master of the arts, not to mention the countless encyclopedias he’d poor over until the morning sun crested over the horizon, light streaming through the branches to brush the forest floor. He could talk for hours about any subject, a trait that was both endearing and tiresome at times, causing Tommy to yell for him to shut up and leave him in peace.</p>
<p>Phil for his part worried for Wilbur’s mental health. The demon held himself to impossible standards, not being the strongest fighter of the group he was determined to be useful in other ways. He’d become the pillar his brothers leaned on when the world became too much, a weight Wilbur bore without complaint. He was so accustomed to the role of protector he forgot he could lean on them for support as well, leading to nights like this, when Phil physically had to carry his limp form to bed, too exhausted to make it there himself.</p>
<p>Phil resolved to have a chat with Wil about his sleeping habits come morning, remind him he didn’t have to carry the weight of their struggles alone.</p>
<p>Wilbur was their glue, their pillar. But even the strongest pillar can crumble.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Phil opened Techno’s door slowly, trying to keep the rusted hinges from creaking. He was met with darkness on the other side, and held the lantern in front of him, careful not to trip on the emergency bag Techno always kept by the door.</p>
<p>Shadows danced across the bare white walls, as Phil made his way towards the bed. Techno was a minimalist to say the least. The shelves were bare of anything but dust, the only artifact in the room being the sword propped up against the nightstand. gleaming silver in the moonlight filtering through the glass panes of the window. Shut tight as always.</p>
<p>Phil knew why. He knew why Techno kept his window locked and his door shut, why he had purposely chosen the room farthest from Tommy and Tubbo. And he hated to watch his son isolate himself, if only  for the nights.</p>
<p> Phil set down his light, illuminating the claw marks carved deep into the dark wood of the bedside table. He perched lightly on the mattress, observing his son in the dim lighting.</p>
<p>A thin sheen of sweat glistened on the demon king’s brow, furrowed in discomfort. His braid coiled on the pillow above his head like a pink serpent. He gripped the sheets between his fists, knuckles white as he shifted in his sleep, muscles tense.</p>
<p>Gently, Phil reached out and swept the hair from his brow, combing his fingers between the pink strands. He smiled to himself when Techno visibly relaxed to the touch, jaw unclenching and a soft sigh escaping his lips. He knew he would never admit how touch starved he was, but he was always the last to let go during hugs, and would unconsciously reach for Wilbur’s hand at times, would ruffle Tommy and Tubbo’s hair when they passed in the hall. Techno took comfort in others’ presence, so it saddened Phil when the demon would distance himself from his family</p>
<p>It pained him to walk past the bag by the door every night, packed with everything Techno would need to leave at a moment’s notice. He felt empty when the shelves remained bare, the room a blank canvas, devoid of life.</p>
<p>He knew Techno didn’t believe in permanence, life was a fragile thing after all. But in a forest so ancient, Phil had learned to leave his mark where he could.</p>
<p>He hoped one day Techno might paint his walls, make a mess of his room for Phil to navigate in the dark. But that day was not today, and he brushed his lips against his son’s forehead, before quietly exiting the room, closing the door behind him.</p>
<p>Maybe Techno would open it one day, just a crack would be enough.</p>
<p>He could wait for that day. It was Techno’s room to open, after all.</p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Phil yawned as he stepped into his bedroom. He didn’t bother to close the door, nor blow out the light as he crawled under the covers of his massive bed. Sleep came easy, comforted by the knowledge his sons were okay, at least for tonight. </p>
<p>And if they weren’t, his room was always open.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Head flappies is the new scientific term for Tubbo's head wing thingies. I will not argue this matter.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(lmao actually if you know what they're called comment cause i don't wanna call em that forever and i got nothing)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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